


One Step at a Time

by gremlins-came-and-got-me (Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dead Cora, Dead Hale Parents, Evil Kate, Helpful Laura, M/M, Mentioned suicide, Physical Therapist Stiles, Psychologist Boyd, permanently injured derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-08 02:11:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15920787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark/pseuds/gremlins-came-and-got-me
Summary: Derek used to be a dancer before Kate Argent ran him over for reasons he doesn't remember. Now he needs physical therapy. Dr. Geyer suggests the best in the business, Stiles Stilinski.





	One Step at a Time

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Prompt #292 Flexible of [Fullmoon Ficlet](http://fullmoonficlet.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I am not a medical professional, so I apologize if something is blatantly wrong.

~ * ~

Everything hurts.

Derek opens his eyes, blinking up at the bright light overhead. Beside him, he can hear the rustle of clothing, and then Laura’s face pops into his line of sight. At least she’s blocking most of the light now.

“Hey there,” she says, smiling so wide it looks like it might hurt. Definitely doesn’t hurt like he does though. He doesn’t answer her, and she frowns at him. “Come on, Derek. I can see that you’re awake.”

“Awake yes,” he croaks. He tries to sit up, and holy fuck that’s a bad idea. He doesn’t know what happens for the ten minutes it takes for Laura to fetch a nurse to help him lie back, but it isn’t good.

He pisses himself and his ears crinkle with static, his mind skittering away, spinning into an abyss that he is forcefully dragged from when the nurse taps his face.

“You with me?” she asks, cheerfully.

Derek nods, shame heating his cheeks when he realizes that he’s now lying in a puddle of his urine.

“It’s okay,” Laura tries to assure him, but Derek is tired, in pain, and embarrassed. He doesn’t want to listen to platitudes, least of all from someone who can still stand up straight.

The nurse shoos Laura out and then cleans him efficiently. She pats him dry clinically, but Derek can see her checking him out as she changes his gown.

He wants to tell her that he’s broken now, that there’s no use in lusting after him, but he can’t find the words or they stick in his throat. He doesn’t care. Just one more way that he’s useless.

Laura comes back and sits in the chair pulled up close to the bed. Derek ignores her.

Laura sighs. “Listen, the doctor will be by in a little while, but I already know he’s going to tell you that you should have therapy. I hope you know that I’m not going to let you get out of it.”

Derek doesn’t bother responding. He went from being on top of the world, recently quoted as being an up and coming star destined for big things, to here, in a hospital, unsure if he’ll even be able to have full use of his legs.

He doesn’t want to listen to the doctor, and he doesn’t want Laura to push him to do what the doctor says.

He just wants to be left alone.

~ * ~

Dr. Geyer wants Derek to start therapy immediately. He thinks there’s nothing wrong with Derek’s legs despite the fact that Derek can’t feel them when he’s lying down.

“That’ll change,” Dr. Geyer assures him, barely glancing at Derek or his chart. Instead, he addresses Laura, and Derek’s irritability rises until he glares at both of them. Neither seems fazed, which only makes him glare harder.

The discharge papers are dropped on his lap and a pen pressed into his hand. He signs without reading them, shoving them back at Dr. Geyer.

“Remember,” he says, “the first appointment is on Friday.”

Derek valiantly blanks his face and nods mechanically. As if Laura would let him forget.

Dr. Geyer whistles as he leaves as the same nurse from before bustles in, an orderly with a wheelchair following her.

“Let’s get you up and out of her,” she chirps, and Derek cringes at her pitch. He hopes he never has to see the hospital again.

~ * ~

Derek spends the rest of his week learning out to dress himself when he can’t stand for any length of time without his legs giving out on him.

Laura takes the wheelchair back on Thursday, but Derek doesn’t care. He’s got an awesome walker-thing. He can use it as a chair if he gets too tired when he’s moving around.

Laura snorts at him the first time he uses it in her presence, and he flips her off.

She shakes her head. “Come on, I’ll drive you.”

Right. The physical therapy.

Derek grumbles under his breath and pretends not to notice when Laura slips his painkillers into her purse.

Getting into Laura’s compact car is an endeavor all its own. He doesn’t relish having to get back into it after the therapist has wrung every ounce of mobility from his body.

Derek expects to go back to the hospital, so when Laura turns toward the new gym that had just started construction before Derek’s “accident,” he’s surprised and a little worried.

To his inquiring gaze, Laura says, “Our insurance will cover it.”

“A gym?” he asks incredulous.

Laura sighs. “The physiotherapist is licensed. He teaches classes at the gym and has a fully equipped patient-area. Our insurance is going to cover it and the settlement will pay our insurance back.”

Derek nods, sinking low in his seat. He didn’t need the reminder of the pending lawsuit. Of course, his battered body requiring therapy is a constant reminder, so it’s not exactly a surprise. But, Derek had been hoping to postpone any mentions of Kate Argent or her refusal to accept liability in his “accident.”

Laura parks in the handicap spot, digging the placard she must have applied for when he was still unconscious pout of her purse. Derek scowls at her but leaves it alone. He knows they’ll probably benefit from parking so close after his session.

She digs his walker out from the trunk, and Derek hauls himself out of the car. Laura manages to shove the walker under him before his legs buckle, and he shoots her a grateful look.

Together, they make their way inside.

It’s nice, Derek thinks, aside from the stairs leading up to the second level where a man waves at them.

“That’s him, Stiles Stilinski,” Laura says, eyeing the stairs with the same distaste as Derek. “There, elevators.”

The ride up is short, and Derek finds he doesn’t mind the elevator as much as he’d thought he would. It probably helps that Laura is terrified of them and yet she rides up with him.

Stiles waves at them again when the doors open.

“Welcome,” he says, cheerily.

“Why is everyone so happy?” Derek demands sourly.

Stiles raises an eyebrow. “Happy?”

“The doctor and the nurse at the hospital. They seemed overly happy when I was there.”

“Probably because you’re considered something of a miracle in the medical world.”

“Yeah?” Derek raises his own eyebrow.

Stiles points at his legs. “The way the vehicle hit you, the speed and the angle, you shouldn’t be alive much less walking.”

“And you’re going to help get him dancing again,” Laura breaks in.

“Laura!”

Stiles chuckles awkwardly. “Well, I certainly hope I can help Derek regain some mobility and maybe some of his flexibility, but I don’t think I can get him dancing again.” He looks at Derek directly, his stare boring through Derek’s defensive shield, flaying him open and leaving him shuddering under the weight of it.

“I think it’s up to Derek just how much of his former talents he reclaims.”

Derek pauses. He likes that word, such a deliberate choice on Stiles’ part. Reclaim. Like Derek has some kind of control over his future.

“Shall we begin?” Stiles claps his hands.

Derek shrugs at Laura, leaving the walker with her while he shuffles after Stiles.

~ * ~

Derek groans in pain, reaching up to grip the headboard to help pull himself upright. He drops back to the bed, groaning again.

Laura stifles a sigh and leans down to help pull him up. She runs her hands through his sweat-soaked hair. “Feeling up to eating?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “A shower first,” he says to her disappointed frown. “Then food.”

He leans heavily on the walker, dragging his feet because it hurts too much to lift his legs. Laura looks worried. He gives her a kiss on the forehead, making sure to make it a wet one. “I’m fine,” he says while she wipes at the mark he left. She looks like she wants to argue, but she lets him go without a fight.

After, when he manages to pull on a pair of loose sweatpants and a too-large t-shirt, he sinks onto the couch, too drained to walk the fifteen feet to the kitchen. Laura joins him, holding a bowl of soup.

“Eat,” she reminds him, and he allows her to feed him.

He pushes the spoon away once he’s eaten a few bites.

She sets the bowl aside, curling her hands in her lap. “What do you think of Stiles?” she asks quietly.

Derek shrugs, feeling the pull of muscles he hasn’t used in nearly six months. “He’s good,” he admits. “I do think I overdid it today.”

“Probably,” Laura agrees. “But it feels good to be doing something, right?”

He shrugs again. “You know I wasn’t really aware when I was in the coma, right? I don’t remember things, being inactive.”

Laura looks stricken. “No, I meant that you’re building muscle mass again. You might even get to dance again.”

Derek snorts. “Stiles had me lie on the floor while he stretched my legs. I don’t think that’s going to get me dancing again anytime soon.”

“Well, no, but it’s a start.”

He blows a breath out through his nose. “What if I don’t want to dance again?” he asks. “What if when Kate ran me over, I lost that part of myself?”

“No.” Laura shakes her head. “She can’t have stolen that part of you.”

“But she did,” Derek says. “She damaged me so badly that I can barely fend for myself. I have to go to a special class to learn how to use my arms and legs again. I have holes in my memory.” He whispers, “I don’t remember Cora.”

Laura doesn’t move. It even looks like she stops breathing.

Cora, their little sister, had gotten into dance because of Derek. She’d been with him when Kate had hit him. She hadn’t made it. Derek can’t remember the last six years of his life, and Cora is gone completely. He sees the pictures around Laura’s apartment, sees the bright face when no one is looking, sees the scowling girl hiding behind him when he practiced at the barre his parents had installed in their living room, sees Cora in all these pictures, and has no fucking clue who she is.

He hadn’t told Laura because she’d been busy getting her apartment ready to handle him, taking care of meeting with their lawyers and the insurance agents, making sure Kate paid for what she did.

The settlement was all but agreed upon. Cora’s funeral costs, Derek’s medical costs, and a hefty sum for emotional damages. And Kate serving twenty-five to life with no chance at parole.

If Derek could only get his legs to work, they’d be set. Laura wants him to dance again, but Derek knows he can’t. Not only is he too weak, too brittle, too inflexible, but Cora isn’t there. He may not remember his little sister, but he can feel how wrong it is to think back on the performances he does recall and not have her there in his memory.

“Well,” Laura says, determined. “We’ll just have to help you remember.” She gets a glint in her eye. “Once the plea deal—” the first time Laura’s actually called it what it is—“is signed off on, we’ll get you a therapist who can help recover memories. Okay?”

Derek wants to tell her that it isn’t okay, that Cora is missing in more ways than one, but he sighs and nods slowly. “Okay,” he mutters, and then grabs the walker to stand up—a painfully slow process that takes more than ten minutes. “I’m going to bed. Thank you for the soup. See you tomorrow.”

He manages to crawl onto the bed and flick the covers over his legs before he puts his head down and passes out.

~ * ~

Stiles works him lightly the next session, stretching out his legs again and massaging the calf muscles as he does so.

“That’s good,” he encourages when Derek takes initiative to move his leg himself. “I know it hurts right now, but you have to push through it.”

Derek grunts when Stiles’ hands slip and his leg folds back almost of its own accord. He pants through the idea of pain while Stiles leans on him, smiling down at him.

As soon as Stiles lets go, Derek tries extending his leg, only for the muscle to lock, keeping it pinned in the awkward position. Stiles seems unconcerned as he rubs liniment onto the appendage, pulling it out and pushing it back in until Derek’s face is wet with tears he refuses to cry when he’s with his sister.

“That’s it,” Stiles croons, dropping his leg down gently. He helps Derek sit up, spreading more liniment down his back, working it into his atrophied muscles.

“Am I still a miracle?” Derek asks when Stiles gets him on his feet and starts helping him to where Laura is waiting, listening to a podcast on her phone.

“Yes, of course,” Stiles says distractedly.

“Did you know my sister died that day?” he asks harshly, and Stiles freezes, turning to him with a wide-eyed look.

“Um,” he says.

Derek waves it away. “I have memory issues. I don’t even know why Kate Argent targeted me. I only know what Laura or our lawyers have told us. And I know I used to have a younger sister, but I don’t remember her.” He blinks away a sudden spring of tears, using the back of his hands to wipe at his face. “I don’t want to be a miracle,” he says. “I want my sister back.”

“I can’t do that,” Stiles says, “but I do know a handful of therapists who work with brain trauma. And while I can’t promise that you’ll recover any memories, it’s worth a try.”

“My insurance will cover it?”

“That I don’t know, but it’s definitely worth looking into.” Stiles smiles. “I’ll get those numbers for you. See you tomorrow, Derek.”

Derek grunts in response and heads for where Laura is curled up, her phone pressed to her ear, crying.

She looks up when he sinks down next to her. “Okay. Yes,” she says resignedly. “I understand. Thank you.” She hangs up and turns to him. “Kate killed herself this morning. We have to wait for her estate to process before we get any payout. Our insurance has agreed to cover the rest of your physical therapy sessions but nothing else.”

Derek closes his eyes, leaning his head back. The physical therapy is more important right now, isn’t it?

“Why did Kate kill herself?” he asks without looking down.

Laura shrugs, her shoulder brushing against him. “I don’t know. I guess we’ll be told later. I’d imagine it’s because she was facing life in prison.”

Derek sighs, letting his head drop forward. “Stiles wants me to see a therapist who can help with my memories.”

“Do you want to?”

He shrugs. “I want to remember Cora. I don’t think I can do that on my own.”

“If you’re sure,” Laura says. “I don’t know if our insurance will cover it.”

“I still have most of my savings,” Derek says. “I can use that to pay for it.”

“Solid plan.” Laura claps her hands together. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah.”

~ * ~

The next week is filled with appointments with Stiles and then with the trauma therapist. Derek makes great progress—in his head. His legs are another matter.

For the first time since he woke up from his coma three weeks ago, he can remember his little sister. The therapist, a gentle giant of a man that makes Derek feel secure in a way he hasn’t since he met Kate—not that he remembers that yet—thinks that forgetting Cora was a defensive mechanism designed to protect him from being even more traumatized.

Derek isn’t sure he agrees, but he definitely appreciates that he can see Cora’s face again. It makes him miss her more keenly, but he’ll take the pain over the numbness.

His legs are a little stronger, but he still feels drained and off-center after a session with Stiles. It doesn’t help that he’s started noticing Stiles in a way that isn’t conducive to his strengthening his muscles. Stiles doesn’t seem to mind when he accidentally brushes against Derek’s more interested body part.

It can’t go anywhere, not as long as Stiles is his physical therapist. Doesn’t mean Derek isn’t disappointed in the fact that he can’t pursue Stiles properly.

Laura has stopped mentioning dancing altogether, all her energy focused on her job and pumping their lawyer for updates on Kate’s estate.

So far, if Derek understands her muttering right, the estate is going to auction, and then the liquidation will be doled out. Boyd, the head therapist, hasn’t charged Derek for a session yet, claiming that a mysterious benefactor has paid for eighteen sessions. Derek’s insurance is still covering the sessions with Stiles.

“Can I be angry?” Derek asks Boyd three more weeks in. Kate’s estate has settled, and Laura has made a trust to pay both Stiles and Boyd.

“Certainly.” Boyd steeples his fingers, leaning closer. “What are you angry about?”

“Kate.” Derek shrugs. “Sometimes Cora. Mostly myself.”

“Why are you angry at yourself?”

“Because I’m useless.” Derek points down at his legs propped up on his walker.

Boyd frowns at him.

“We’ve talked about this,” he says. “You’re not useless.”

“But I am,” Derek insists. “I had an appointment with Dr. Geyer yesterday. He thinks I should be walking without the walker by now.”

“But?” Boyd prompts.

“But I’m not. Obviously.”

“What do you think is wrong? Is it your legs or is it a mental block? Who can help you right now? Me or Stiles?”

“Why would it be mental?”

“Maybe you’re not ready for the independence that would come with not needing the walker anymore.” Boyd shrugs. “Or maybe your legs just are strong enough.”

“They should be though. Stiles keeps pushing me.”

“So, it’s a mental block.” Boyd stands up. He motions for Derek to join him. “One step at a time. Walk across the room.”

Derek reaches for the walker and Boyd kicks it out of reach. “I’m here to catch you if you fall,” he says to Derek’s incredulous look.

Derek mutters about sadistic therapists, fully including Stiles in that lumping as he glares at Boyd. He isn’t swayed, and Derek swallows down his protests.

What had Boyd said? One foot in front of the other? One step at a time.

And Derek does it. One step at a time, he crosses the room. He leans against the wall briefly, catching his breath and trying to hide the way his legs are shaking wildly. Boyd watches him with interest, nodding when he steps forward again, ready to come back to his seat.

When he sinks down, sweat-soaked, legs trembling, so hard they ache with it, Boyd hands him a box of wet wipes and his walker.

“For what it’s worth,” he says, “I am so very proud of you.”

Strangely, so is Derek. That’s the farthest he’s walked unassisted. His legs hurt and he still can’t catch his breath, but he did it.

“Are you still angry at yourself?” Boyd asks, sitting down.

“No,” Derek admits. He looks at the far wall, imagining that he can see where he leaned against it. He looks back to Boyd. “That was kind of awesome.”

Boyd nods. “It was.”

“It hurt though.”

“A lot of things do. But if you keep doing it, it’ll stop hurting. Do your sessions with Stiles still hurt a lot?”

Derek shakes his head. “I mean, they hurt when he makes me do something new, but if he just stretches my legs, it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“So maybe you need to push yourself a little more. Take it easy of course and don’t overdo it.”

“But don’t stagnate?” Derek asks.

Boyd shrugs. “Sometimes stagnation isn’t really stagnation. It just feels like it. And sometimes it really is. Find your balance, but don’t be afraid to ask for help. That’s why we’re here.”

Boyd checks his watch. “I’m sorry. That’s all the time we have for today. I’ll see you in three days.”

Derek stands up. He uses one hand to push his walker. He’ll need it by the time he gets back to Laura’s apartment where he’s still staying in her guest room, but first, he wants to swing by the gym and tell Stiles about walking across Boyd’s office. Twice.

Stiles is busy with a client, so Derek sits on the bench outside the classroom and waits patiently.

When Stiles finishes, he sits next to Derek. “What brings you here?” he asks, an amused tilt to his mouth. Unbidden, Derek wonders what it would be like to taste his lips.

“I did something today,” he says instead. Stiles looks intrigued and then happy when he describes walking without aid.

“Dude, that’s so freaking awesome! High five!” Obligingly, Derek lets Stiles slam their palms together. “So, aside from that, was there anything else you wanted to talk about?”

Derek shrugs. “Maybe,” he mumbles. Stiles waits. Derek sighs. “I don’t want you to be my physical therapist anymore.”

Stiles’ face falls. “Okay,” he says. “Do you want a recommendation?”

“Yeah, that’d be great.” Stiles jumps to his feet and hurries away. Derek stands up more slowly, leaning heavily on his walker. He might have overdone it a bit today, what with having a session with Stiles this morning and then walking in Boyd’s office.

Stiles comes back quickly, a torn sheet of paper in his hand. “So, this is the contact information for my colleague. He’s great too, but he isn’t licensed to work out here, so you’ll have to meet him at the hospital.”

“That’s fine,” Derek says, taking the paper. He creases it carefully and then tears off the bottom of the sheet. “Do you have a pen I can borrow?”

“Yeah, sure.” Stiles digs out a neon green pen with the gym’s name on it. Derek scribbles a note on the paper and then hands both it and the pen to Stiles.

“What’s this?” Stiles asks. Normally he would be amused, but Derek thinks he’s hurt. He reads it quickly, surprise flashing in his eyes. “What is this?” he repeats softer.

“It’s a check-yes-or-no,” Derek says shyly. He isn’t sure why he thought it’d be a good idea to ask Stiles out now, but he didn’t want to walk away without a guarantee of some kind that he could see him again.

“This just says ‘do you like me?’”

“Do you?” Derek asks.

Stiles glances between the paper and Derek’s face before he clicks the pen and checks one of the boxes. He writes something underneath it too.

Derek holds his breath when Stiles hands the paper to him. He glances down, almost afraid of what he’ll find.

He checked yes. And wrote “definitely.”

“Dinner?” Stiles asks.

“Tonight?” Derek counters.

“Sure. Now?”

“Now.”

Stiles’ smile is beautiful, and Derek realizes that if he can ever get back to healthy enough, he’d definitely dance for him. He has a feeling that Stiles would smile at him like that all the time if he did.

One step at a time.

Dinner first, and then more therapy. Maybe even dancing later. If Derek could stay upright. He changes his mind. Horizontal dancing. Easier for now.

He smiles at Stiles and receives the same brilliant grin he’s come to love.

~ Fin ~

**Author's Note:**

> Story spoiler: it isn't mentioned in the story, but Derek rejected Kate and she didn't take it well so she ran over Derek and Cora. Cora died. The MCD is for Cora.
> 
> Cross posted at [my Tumblr](http://1989dreamer.tumblr.com/post/177828960200/one-step-at-a-time).
> 
> Unedited. Will edit later.
> 
> Thanks for reading.


End file.
